Demon's Waltz
by nekoue
Summary: This is a type of beauty and the beast tale, if you will. A tale of a man, and a monster, and a girl and an everlasting beauty. This is the tale of a man whose skin was pale and his eyes were odd, this is the tale of Sweeney Todd...


My name is Margaret, but no one calls me that, at best they call me Madge, and I am a thing in more ways than one. I work as a maid for the Henderson family, like my mother before me. My father was once a college of Mr. Henderson but then his gambling got him into trouble before I was even born. Mr. Henderson must have been a good man in those years, he certainly isn't one now. But he paid my father's dues and took the young couple on as indentured servants disgracing my once wealthy line. Mother died giving birth to me, she never even got to see what I look like, and at times I think that was for the best. You see, I am a thing in respect to what I do for my superiors for they own me, the debt my father owed passing to my shoulders when at last the vial drunk gave up the ghost and died. I am a thing in respect to what Mr. Henderson does to me at night. The Mrs. knows, I'm sure of it. I've cried out so many nights and so little attention he pays her when he gets hot with drink how could she not? But standing here and looking at my marred face distorted in the gleam of the whistling kettle I know I am a thing in nature as well.

I am not pretty, nor will I ever feign that I am. The mere fact that I was not drowned upon my very birth is both a miracle and an act of omnipotent cruelty by God himself. I wish I had been drowned upon birth, or burned alive as the priests shout that I should be when they come upon me on the street. Perhaps if father had indeed bludgeoned me to death when I was a child as he seemed so intent upon doing I would know a semblance of peace, but as it is I was not, and do not. For, and I tell you this as a friend, I am a haggard monster. Tis true. Father many a times in drunken stupor or hallowed sobriety of Sunday morn would spit in my, his very own child's face, and tell me that I had not been born of his seed. That I could not have. He would scream it until God above could not even ignore his words of hate and scorn. He would that my mother had lain with Satan and that I was his most unholy spawn.

I should tell you, I think, of my face now. The left of it is rather plain and homely, what you may expect to find in any maid's quarters of this, London town. The eye is green and the lips and pink and soft. On the right however my flesh is red and harsh under the hand, the eye is set deep and twists as though trying to flee from its appointed place. The lips are drooped yet drawn back as though snarling at the world which scorns me. The arm too, on the right is greatly marred. It is small and thin and shriveled branch of a thing that will not move itself away from me. The claw like hand I may use, but only if I bring the thing to me and the task requires little strength. Looking at myself now I believe my father's words, that my mother, God rest her soul, had lay with the devil the night of my conception for how else had I come to be? Mr. Henderson, I wonder would do far better to find a more comely maid to spend his evenings with as appose to I. I suppose though, that he cares not for my appearance but only for that warm place in which he may stick it when his wife scorns him from their bed.

I will not lie, I dread those nights when his shadow it cast long across my bed. When he stumbles over the cold floor boards to my side and his breath is hot and rank with drink upon my neck. When his laugh is cruel and his arms far stronger than any fight I can make against him and the pain flares inside me, in that place meant for my husband alone yet he rips from me each night his lusts grow too strong for the rat to control. But, and I beg you think not poorly of me for dear reader you are my only friend and confidant. I should think I would be very lost and afraid if ever I were to be without him. There has never been a time when I was without him, not since my birth. He cares for me I think, for although my clothes may never be fine they are never thread bare. And though I must wait until the family has had their fill before I may indulge in what remains I never go hungry. His beatings even, sharp as they may be as quickly over and the misdeed I have committed to deserve such a punishment is forgotten with the final blow. And even when his lusting gaze was first turned upon me at the age of nine he was ever so gentle in word and deed, despite the pain he wracked through my body.

It is for this reason that I stay and have not fled this place, for the kindness outside of the cruelty, and for fear of the world. I have been chased by boys with stones, sticks and cruel hate filled words. Women with brooms and sharp tongued curses upon myself and the womb that bore me for fear that I would devour their children. A man once cut my face to see if the blood ran black, but Mr. Henderson ran him clear away from me, not that he has never struck me hard enough to cause me to bleed, yet he cared enough to chase away this stranger.

It is for my mistress that I hold no love. She quick to anger with me, she strikes me, and spits on me and threatens to return me to hell. Yet it is for she that the kettle whistles now in my ear as I peer at myself in its mirror surface. She is to have tea with other ladies of good breeding and well repute this afternoon and rests nude in the wash basin whose water for me is never warm and welcoming, but cold frigid.

Taking a rag I lift it by the handle and dowse the flame. Making my way to my master's bedroom and rap the door lightly. "Come in." she said as though I had disturbed her in a moment of prayer. She never used my name, so head down as I knew I should behave and slowly entered. She was a truly lovely woman. Her hair a flowing black, eyes delicately blue, skin the color of milk and body deftly shaped into the resplendent curves of a goddess rather than a woman. "Well?" she called angered, shattering the illusion, but still I envied her beauty. To wear her skin for a day. The dream of it made me smile, she didn't like that I know for her eyes threatened to tear me asunder. Carefully I poured the contents in. "Ah!" she screeched. "You bitch of a whore!" she yelled as she turned on me her hand crossing my face like a bolt of lightning.

The unexpected blow knocked me to the ground, the scolding water scorching my thigh and side as it spilt upon the floor. I screamed in pain and sheer terror of how badly I could be hurt. I leaped up as quickly as my body was able but the wood slick beneath me brought me back down. "You fool, clean it up!" my mistress scolded me. Rising more carefully this time I left to find a towel from the linen closet. My skin stung but I had no time to dwell on it as I wiped clean the floor. As I finished mistress sat upon her stool wet hair waiting to be tended to. I envied her hair sleek and black, my own wash water brown and easily tangled. Taking a brush in hand I began to slide it though her silky locks until they shone like raven's feathers.

She neither spoke, nor looked to me as I rubbed rose water along her body that her odor might not offend. Her visage remained as stiff and unwavering as I dressed her in silks and laces relishing the momentary softness against my hand. I had learned quite early how to do such for my mistress so my deformity made to difference as to how I managed; only how suddenly she flinched away from my touch. Once dressed I made up her hair and her face until she seemed a porcelain doll come to life. It was then that my master came home. He entered the room and removed the powdered wig that signified him a lawyer. "Dearest!" he smiled to his wife arms wide open as though he would embrace her. Instead he held his arms well around her and kissed the air so as not smear the ruby lips or mar the lead power. "You look beautiful, are you off to tea then?" he inquired.

"Yes," she said softly. "Boiled and blistered however." She snipped. "Courtesy of the devil bride!" her hand flew out in my direction, my eyes fluttered like a butterfly's wings with fear, the right far more slowly. She then sob loudly as though the movement had caused her pain.

"Do not fret my darling, go enjoy yourself, you work so hard maintaining this house. You deserve it!" he said with such conviction my soul yearned to believe his flattering lies. She smiled and beat her eyes seductively. "Tonight my sweet." He promised kissing her hand for a long and passionate moment. Her eyes wrinkled in smile and still it did nothing to take from her loveliness. I followed, the obedient lap dog as he escorted her to the carriage. "Relax dear, I love you." He called as she rode out of sight, and then he turned to me.

Dear friend, forgive me if I do not tell you all that occurred then. Instead I will tell you of what I preoccupied my mind with as he did what he would. You see, the fine paper with which the walls of the drawing room are decorated has the most intriguing of patterns. Diamonds and circles intertwined with one another in elegant and beguiling ways until the eye is deceived into a dizziness that boggles the mind. The room shimmered and wavered as tears rained down from my eyes, never mind the painful heat moving terribly about within. It was of a soft cream that reminded one of the innocently hued skin of a babe, new to the world and untouched by the dirt it held. The shapes themselves were a deep red, like blood lined with a shimmering wealth of gold. Forget that which sickeningly filled me and may cause me to swell with child. This paper was nothing like that of their bedroom, by divine providence however I had need not to ponder either anymore for he left me to tend to myself. I tell you friend I lie there and wept for the pain as well as his cruel gentleness about which he had gone about me.

I washed myself is a cloth before dressing gingerly. Afterwards he came to me, his hand light on my shoulder. "You need to go to market and fetch some things for this evenings dinner." He said in a manner that a father would, as though nothing had just happened. I nodded, unable to look at him. "When you are finished you may meet me at the barber's. I have an appointment with one Sweeney Todd." He said caressing the stubble on his chin that my neck had borne not long ago, I cringed. "It is one Fleet Street, do you hear me girl?" he asked.

"Yes." I said as he placed a few shinning coins in my palm. He looked at me, I do not know why; perhaps he felt remorse for what he had done. I admit, that is what I affirmed to myself, for fear it was with darker purpose. He nodded sharply before seeing me to the door, it was there we parted ways and the noose that was the world gripped tight my throat. I have said before that I fear, more than Mr. Henderson what lie beyond his door. It is true. Damn me to hell if you like, you would not be the first, but I should have liked to study that wretched paper for all my life than to step outside, for Mr. Henderson was a monster, but outside lie the demons.


End file.
